


All Corners of the World in Arms

by Angry_American



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angry_American/pseuds/Angry_American
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after a contagion spread that killed the living and brought the dead to life, Brad and Nate are reunited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In the late afternoon of an early spring, four Humvees and a truck roll down a San Diego road, carrying nineteen Marines and a sailor. The convoy would have made a sight, these days, if there had been anyone there to see it. The men squinted their eyes against the glare of the setting sun, as they scanned out, into the shadows, into the ramshackle buildings lining their route. The semi-human figures that lurched about in the golden light, occasionally craning their neck and letting out an eerie bleating, but did not take much notice. The convoy was too far away, moving too fast, and there was no sense of blood or panic to urge them forward.

Gunnery Sergeant Brad Colbert was in the second vehicle, driving. It was his usual place on these kinds of missions, when a butterbar was attached in to his experienced platoon, nominally to lead but really more to be led by Brad and the others towards some tactical and command wisdom, now that they didn’t have a real OCS any more. 

Edwards was the Second Lieutenant in question, rescued a couple months ago, smart, keen to help out with anything needed. He’d been a Business major before, but for all that he wasn’t too bad. It made Brad happy when a temporary team addition was not a raging genetic and moral blight. But right now, he had plenty more reason to be happy. That reason was sitting in the third victor, between Chaffing and Henderson, and his name was Nathaniel Fick.

They had picked him up fifteen minutes ago. A signal flare had been seen, from one of the locations that had been vividly marked on a wall at the gates of Camp Pendleton. Nothing had come over the comms at first, but that usually didn’t mean much. The survivors that had wandered or had been instructed to head there couldn’t always get their hands on long-range radios. Sometimes they came closer to the location and they would pick up a signal. Sometimes they wouldn’t and it would be riskier, less information to assess identity and motive, always a risk that someone who had been ejected from the camp was seeking revenge. The base commander still wouldn’t support capital punishment for the malcontents, and there wasn’t enough food for those who wouldn’t protect and support the others.

Brad hadn’t heard the signal himself. A small patrol had, and had passed on the message. Brad’s team had been out for a week, and had brought back rescued civilians; teenagers, haggard parents, silent little children. Most of the children they found were unnaturally silent, and he supposed that made sense. 

Word had gone out that the next team was being scrambled to investigate the signal that had been passed, a message from someone saying his name was Tim Hutchinson, a doctor from Baltimore, who was holed up there with a Captain Nate Fick, USMC retired. Brad could have been halfway to bleeding out and he still would have gone on that mission.

***

He had been focused, scanning the buildings and road, chokepoints and hidden dangers, and apart from a split-second moment where he had caught Nate’s eye (quickly scanning him up and down, seeing no clear injuries), even the most careful of observers wouldn’t have thought they meant anything to one other.

They were parceled into separate Humvees. Nate understood the urgency, as the Marines forming the perimeter closed in and he was bundled into the middle seat by a corporal with ‘Rankell’ on his name tag. He saw a blur as Brad ran into his victor, after Tim, slamming the door as it pulled away. He swallowed a thrill of fear. There was little to be afraid of, the nearest diseased were practically 50 yards away, their lurching groans barely audible, their movements dampened as they usually were in the daylight hours.

Rankell turned back for a second “You okay, sir, are you hurt?” Nate shook his head and said ‘No’, firmly. He seemed satisfied, and continued, “We’re 15 clicks out from the base, we had a pretty clear run here and it should continue.” Nate nodded and took in the Humvee. It was Army issue and looked even more of a shitbox then the ones they had had back in Iraq. But it was closed in, had some light armour, so they were secure inside, and someone had welded some grilles onto the windows that were small enough to keep out the Biters. The Marines (and they were all Marines) around him looked calm, neat, although their clothes looked like they were in-theatre, covered in dirt and probably with a smell about them, if Nate hadn’t himself not bathed for days. But they looked well-fed, disciplined, and he began to let himself think that there just might be some respite for now, from having to be on guard from dawn to dawn, and think every decision through as though it could be their last. But still, he gripped his AR-15 tightly and scanned to both sides of the vehicle for movement.

The streets were empty, and there was the occasional corpse. It looked the same as every single other city street he had seen for months, windows smashes, goods spilling out onto the street, cars strewn about. They were coming up on Naval Base San Deigo and for the first time in many months he saw something to take comfort in. 

The entry gate, and as far around the perimeter as he could see, had been shored up. Where previously there had just been checkpoints and fencing, there was now a long grey stretch of concrete walls, and behind that guard towers, the sun reflecting off them in the afternoon glare. He watched the victor in front of them as it went through the reinforced metal gates. Occasionally he heard a snap as one of the guard towers let off a round towards the city, taking down another walker. Rankell turned towards him again as they drove through and he lowered his weapon “Home sweet home, sir, although we haven’t got much in terms of white fuckin’ picket fences” he smiled kindly at Nate. Nate felt like he was back in OIF in a way, keeping up appearances again. His heart had started pounding the minute they drove through and he felt breathless, and he tried to clamp it down, berating himself for how stupid be was being for panicking when they had finally reached a modicum of safety. But his voice was perfectly calm as he looked back at Rankell, and at Pitt on his other side, giving a brief smile back “I can’t begin to thank you, gents, for bringing us in from the outside. I’ll give up the picket fence for the opportunity to have a night’s sleep without having to worry about getting our faces eaten off in the middle of the night.”

He gazed around in wonder all the same – there was no destruction here and it looked so surreal to him, so like the world of before, with military personnel and civilians alike walking around nearly as if there was nothing amiss. But some things stood out differently – no one was quite as relaxed as before, they walked in pairs, and he noticed that nearly everyone of adult age was openly armed. There were patches of what must previously have been grass and plants, in amongst the endless concrete, which had been turned into little plots and there were herbs and vegetables growing in them. And there were little signs of tension too, the people around them more watchful then he remembered, with lines at their mouths, and their hands gripping their children’s arms as they walked, a little too tight.

The victor ahead kept driving, and Nate wished for a glimpse of Brad, wanted to know if he was a little more severe as well, or if he had weathered it better than all of them, the Iceman. If anyone were to handle the world turning upside down best, it would be Brad. His heart kept thumping and he felt overwhelmed for a second, aware of his whole body and every neuron for a second, and if he were alone he thought he might have bent over, cried out, reached out for someone that wasn’t there. He must have made some tiny sound because Rankell looked over to him, questioning. He got himself together in a second and something happened to catch his eye ‘I thought you said there weren’t any picket fences’ as he laughed and looked at the house that had one and the same, and a little girl and her mother outside it, giving it a new coat of paint. The mother had a M9 in a holster strapped to the side of her jeans. Rankell grinned too, “Yeah we are doing up the houses, we’ve got civilians flowing in all the time and we haven’t been able to secure all of Coronado yet, so we haven’t got a lot of space. This side was easy, fences and nothing but drop-offs to the bay, but those dead fuckers are coming up from every goddamn beach, walking under the water…” Nate looked at him in surprise, his wind burned lips parting. He hadn’t stayed near the Atlantic long enough to notice that.

They were pulling into a hanger now, into the gaping darkness, which revealed line upon line of pallets, packed with food from what he could see, and water and ammunition. “We’re here, sir, just give us a little while to go debrief and someone will be over to take you to the base commander. You’re Force Recon, right? From a few years back? We definitely need every one of us that we can get. Looking forward to working with you, sir.” Rankell smiled at him in welcome, slipping out of the door.

Nate got out of the victor too, as they all slid past him on the way to their debrief. He looked back at the lead victor and saw Brad’s back, saw him take off his Kevlar and he bent over and said something to the private in front of him. Nate’s free hand clenched and he stopped himself from the impulse to run over and take Brad’s face in his hands, thank God that he had survived, that somehow in the months of the world ending, nearly everyone they knew dead or worse, the country collapsed, anarchy, death, pain, Nate had somehow made it back to this same little place. But he felt unsure, in this place where they had first met and meant something to each other, but had never been allowed to admit or even hint at it. Brad had his life here, and now Nate was back in the same life, with the same people that lived and fought and died together, but never a place where they had been carefree. This was still the military, and in spite of everything, that meant DADT was still real.

So he kept his place, staring at Brad intently as he turned towards him, the private dismissed and going off in the opposite direction. He met Brad’s gaze but his eyes were hooded in shadow, and he looked so like the warrior he had first met, unflinching stare enduring, as that which the Spartans had once worn. Spare mags, a bayonet and baton covered his front, and his M4 was held in easy and familiar hands. He felt rooted there as Brad strode towards him, and didn’t know what to feel, mouth parted and saying nothing. Brad rushed up towards him and Nate stopped breathing as Brad brought his hand up to his cheek and touched him, softly. Nate parted his lips in surprise as he looked into Brad’s face and saw moisture filling his eyes, and fear, and Brad rasped “Nate…Jesus…I thought you were fucking dead...nearly a year” and Brad pulled Nate against him, crushing him, holding on like he wouldn’t ever let go and Nate felt moisture where Brad’s face touched his, although he made not a word and he was as still as a rock

Nate hugged him back, hard, even though the mags and Kevlar were bruising and he couldn’t breath, and brought his hand up, rubbing at Brad’s stubble at the back of his neck gently and whispered to him softly. “I’m okay Brad, I’m sorry, I came as fast as I could. I knew you’d be okay, and that you’d be here waiting for me, crazy devil dog. Never thought anything else.” Brad’s grip eased slightly but he still hung on, and took Nate’s face in his hands and looked at him searchingly. There were cleaner tracks down Brad’s face, and they devastated Nate. He thought that they were already seriously pushing past the bounds of what would be acceptable to the Marines around them, but he saw the resolve in Brad’s eyes as he leaned forward to take Nate’s mouth in his, and he tasted the hint of salt. His lips were soft against his, gentle, so different to the clash of teeth and arousal when they usually met, rather like the last time, in the car in a quiet corner of the car-park as Brad was about to board the Nimitz. Brad always made Nate the saddest then, when he was so unusually restrained and gentle, when he knew he wasn’t coming back for months, and who knew, maybe never. Nate was so fucking glad of this, so glad of Brad, solid against him, his breath steady and comforting in his ear, hand cradling one of his hips. They parted slowly and Brad relaxed his grip, stepping back, quickly rubbing his face so that the dirt obscured any sign apart from some smudged moistness. Brad dropped his hands reluctantly and looked at Nate all over again, running his hand down his side in assessment. ‘You are thin as fuck, Nate, and you look like shit,” he said, concerned, looking at Nate’s filthy face, gaunter than it had ever been, stubble, mucky hair, tattered North Face t-shirt and ACU trousers (that Brad didn’t snarkily comment on those made Nate realize how worried he was), gauntlets around his arms. “The fuck happened?”

He breathed out loudly. “Long story. Got shot by some people, civilian survivalists gone nuts. I’m okay now Brad, you can be sure of that, but we didn’t have many meds or much equipment and were stranded for a while, it was a while before I recovered enough to move on.”

That snapped Brad back into his usual efficient self. “Wait here”. He strode over to a PFC and Nate noticed that the Marines around them had withdrawn and given them some privacy. Brad spoke him quickly, and gestured at Tim, who was surrounded by men and seemed to be regaling them with a story. Brad came back over, “I’m skipping the debrief for now and I’m going to take you and Tim over to the base hospital. Doc Bryan is here – he’s working mostly as a surgeon now, and doing research on the Biters, but I trust him to look you over more than I do the POG reserve fucks and civilians.”

Nate wanted to argue, wanted to say that he really just wanted to get caught up on what was happening, talk to Brad, see the commander, see what he could do to help – but the worry was lining Brad’s face so instead he just smiled a small smile at Brad and nodded, getting back into the Humvee.


	2. Chapter 2

It was good seeing Doc Bryan again. Actually, it was fucking great. He’d thought his chances of seeing many people he knew again were slim, travelling across the country and seeing the awful tableau that had been created by the Disease, the government that had folded, the military installations where only the dead roamed and corpses were thicker than ever. He should have known better.

Doc (now Navy Lieutenant, Doctor Timothy Bryan) had refused to talk off topic at first, had with clipped speech taken the history of how he had been hurt, where he’d been hit, how Tim had treated him, how long he’d taken to heal, the complications, the infection after, how he’d been since, what he’d been eating, what he could and couldn’t do….so much information, but every detail noted down in his neat script. He’d checked him over, hands firm and confident on him, asking where it hurt, taking him through all the physical exams, moving his bruised limbs around. He’d ordered tests then excused himself apologetically, saying he had some other new arrivals to process and would be back soon.

Nate was shepherded around the requisite rooms, smiling in amusement at how exactly it was like the hospitals he had visited in the Corps for his checkup, the personnel friendly but purposeful, asking him what it was like out there, congratulating him on having made it, but not mentioning the last time they had been out there, whether they had lost anyone. He had the sense this had become a brand new world to them, the old one and all its inhabitants left behind. At least on the surface.

Tim came to see him again, looking like he had some more time to spare, this time around. He grinned at Nate, and Nate smiled back widely. Clearly the zombie apocalypse left him in a bit of a better mood than OIF.

“I think you’re okay, Nate. You’re fucking lucky though…getting zipped that close, to the chest at that. At least some of it was only .22. Still…cut off, getting septic, you would have been dead if your brother-in-law hadn’t got through and gotten you those antibiotics. Damn close call even with them. I guess you know that already though.

“One of the bullets went through your right lung, right near the major vessels. Any more near the center and you would have bled out into your chest cavity. There’s a lot of scarring where it tumbled through, and some damage from the subsequent infection and inflammation, mostly to the right lung. But your lung function is still all right, and I think you will be able to get back to near the shape you were before, if you take things carefully.

“There’s some bullet fragments near the base of your skull from another round, but not near anything dangerous, and Tim must have been able to get out the majority of the shrapnel when he was exploring the wound. I can’t imagine this was anything other than agony, with his kit and anesthetic gone. But we’ll see how that goes, we have some surgeons here that can go in and get the rest if it starts bothering you.

“The shoulder…the bullet didn’t go through the joint but passed pretty close, I can’t tell exactly how much the ligaments are damaged because we don’t have MRI, but your range of motion and strength is pretty good, we’ll see how physio goes and follow up in a couple weeks.

“Your wrist fracture is healing up just fine. Flesh wounds are healing up fine. 

“Mostly I’m concerned about the damage that was done with the infection and how critically ill you were for a period of time. That you are still so underweight and wasted, months after the wounds, speaks volumes. From what you and Tim have told me you’ve been pushed to your limits constantly since then, and haven’t had time to recover. Your bloods are pretty good, but you’re a fit young guy and you’ve got a lot of room for compensation. Doesn’t mean you aren’t in shitty-ass condition.

“I know you are just as gung-ho as the rest of those recon motherfuckers, even if you’ve been surrounded by pussy civilians for years. But I need to seriously stress how much you need to rest and recover your strength and health right now. You’re going to be a little fucked from these wounds for the rest of your life, and the best chance you stand of getting back to normal if doing a fuck-load of physio and rehab now.

He paused. “You’re safe here, Nate, you can take the time. Questions?”

Nate game a small wry grin and demurred. “Not yet, bit much to take in, I’ll just do as I’m told for now, you don’t have to worry about that.”

Tim looked at him with a rare kind expression. “I’m fucking glad you are here, it’s a happy day. Brad hasn’t said shit, but he hasn’t been the same and I know how much he loves you.” Nate was too slow and too tired to stop a slight sign of surprise forming, his lips parting. 

“Yeah I know, although believe me its still pretty on the down-low. But Brad was so torn up about not being able to be there to get you out, it would have been pretty stupid for his friends not to notice.

“It’s a piece of shit retarded policy anyway, trust the US military to be following some stone-age mind-fuck and be three decades behind the times. Anyway, the old days of whether DADT is on or not are fucking irrelevant, we need everyone we can get to survive, and you are a fucking good officer Nate, you are what we need.” Bryan finished, expression as intense as Nate remembered. 

Nate nodded. “Thank you Tim. It means a lot to me to hear that, and it means a lot to me to have found some of you again…” Nate paused…”Tell me, is anyone else here?”

“We’ve been lucky, damn lucky. Brad got messages out, told everyone to come to San Diego if they didn’t have any options. Ray got here two months after the beginning, showed up in a fucking whisky tango beat up orange Camaro with wife and kid in tow.” Bryan smiled fondly. “Lilley was on the carrier with Brad and he’s okay. Patterson is here, Lt. Col. now, one of the senior officers on base. Rudy made it here, but his family was killed and he’s not the same.” He stopped smiling.

“Poke is dead, though he got his wife and 2 daughters here. Stafford is dead. Eric survived the initial event but went on a recce and supply mission that turned into a clusterfuck, died in a helo crash. The others got the messages but we haven’t heard from them, so they’re either dead or hiding out somewhere. Probably alone, we’ve recced a whole lot of the major military bases and most of them are fucked. The Nimitz came through pretty okay, Brad can tell you more about how it was secured, I wasn’t onboard at the time.”

He paused, and then continued on with a scowl “Oh, and once again we are beset by fucking retards, somehow Captain America and Encino man were nearby Pendleton and made it here alive. Thank fuck the commander is Navy and seems to realize their utter lack of a thought process and they aren’t given too much authority. I think Captain America mostly shacks up in his room with his collection of flimsy zombie-killing-themed paraphernalia…seems to have hit up some comic store when it all went down. Tactical axe, what genius, shame he wasn’t killed when it snapped off in on of their heads the first time he tried to use it,” he chuckled

He cut off, and glanced behind Nate. Brad was back, and he stood in the doorway silently, watching them. He came forward at Doc’s signal and looked questioningly at him “He’s okay, Brad, but he’s weak as all hell right now, he went though some major gun shot trauma and systemic illness and infection afterwards. It’s going to be months before he’s back to full strength. Just make him take it easy, light work, no more than a few hours a day, don’t let the commander load him up. Big meals, walking around, light jogging at most. Lots of sleep. I’ve written up a rehab plan with the physio and Nate can come by on Thursday morning to go through it. But for now just take it really easy.” Nate would have looked offended at being spoken of in the third person, but today was starting to get a little much, and he was finding that sitting there and shutting up was probably the best approach at the moment. Doc stood up and walked over to Brad, clapping him briefly and vigorously on the back, “I’m happy for you Brad, happy for both of you.” Brad met his eyes and nodded, gratefully. “Now get the fuck out of here.” He said as he walked out of the consult room.

Brad grinned “Not a problem sir.” He came over to Nate and he noticed Brad had showered, and had put on a fresh set of cammies. The smell of some sort of tropical laundry detergent made a laugh bubble up in his throat. “You smell so clean” he laughed as Brad bent down in front of his chair. “And you smell and look like shit on a stick, sir, so we better get you cleaned up.” But despite that he placed a hand on Nate’s thigh, squeezing gently, reassuring them that this was happening. They looked at each other silently, and Nate’s small grin turned into a wide smile that Brad always thought made him look a little bit (a lot) like jailbait, but wouldn’t change for the world. He stood up and offered Nate his hand.

***

 

The drive to their accommodation made Nate realize how tired he actually was. It had been near 50 hours since he had slept at all, but the adrenaline of getting here was starting to wear off. It was only 1800 but he started to blank out, letting himself let go and trust to Brad to keep them safe. He came to only as they pulled up in front of a house.

Brad came around to him, hefting his backpack from the back seat and motioning him to follow. “I organized to get a house for a few days…its empty at the moment and I was living in dorms with some other grunts, but there’s fuck all ventilation, the showers don’t work and the walls are thinner than paper. I’ll figure out where we can live later, but for now, this is home.”

The exhaustion was getting to him, because he again felt like he could crumple at the drop of a hat, finally getting to here and to Brad after the months of not-knowing. Brad maybe saw his look and cocked an eyebrow, swatting his ass as he walked past. “Come on, gotta get your stink cleaned up so you are fit to be in my company.

They went into the house, a newly painted bungalow, with a master bedroom with a king size bed that to Nate looked like an impossible mirage, with pale purple sheets and a frilled pillow neatly on top. When they entered the house Brad took his hand firmly, entwining their fingers, and led him towards the bathroom. The little seashell hand soaps were the funniest thing Nate had ever seen, and he started to laugh, a little madly. Brad grinned and rolled his eyes, “Civilians decorated this place for a family. Or to be some sort of homosexual communist hippie encampment. I had no fucking part in this underwater extravaganza.”

Nate squeezed his hand and put his hand on Brad’s heart, feeling the slow thumping underneath muscle, the most comforting thing he had felt since everything turned to Hell. “I’ve missed you Brad, so much…” he whispered. Brad brought his own hand up and covered Nate’s with it, his calluses brushing against the dirt and scratches and bruises that covered Nate’s hands. Brad stepped a bit closer, pinning their hands together. Nate noticed Brad’s bulk more now that he had lost some of his own, or maybe it was just that he hadn’t been this close to him for nearly a year. The back of Nate’s thighs brushed the cabinet as Brad took his mouth, and Nate wanted to protest, stop Brad from getting Nate’s filth all over him, that he hadn’t brushed his teeth for days, but Brad didn’t seem to care, his tongue slowly but firmly pressing against Nate’s own, and it felt fucking wonderful, being enveloped in Brad, feeling his corded muscle under his hands, something he a few hours ago thought might never be possible. Despite his exhaustion, Brad’s presence went straight to his dick, and he pressed against Brad’s thigh, half-hard in an instant. He expected Brad to press his hand down, cradle his cock, but instead he pulled away and pressed Nate away from him.

“Okay, shower time.”

“Sounds good, Brad, so hurry up and get the fuck naked.”

Brad just leaned back and crossed his arms, looking at Nate, “Mmmm much as I would like to, the water is limited and my role in this situation is to make sure you don’t pass out in the middle of your shower and give yourself a brain hemorrhage.” Nate frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by Brad coming forward, meeting his gaze and taking his hand to the side of Nate’s face. “Just let me make sure you get a shower and sleep, ok? We’ve got all the time we want.” He stepped closer and started to lift Nate’s shift over his head, then whispered hot and gravelly in his ear. “But if you are very well behaved in the shower, I may even send you off to the sleep part by having you fuck my throat until you see the fucking Northern Lights.

Nate swallowed and resolutely ignored the desire to grind against Brad, focusing on getting undressed. His shirt gone, he started to unbutton his pants as Brad knelt down in front of him, unzipping his boots. He toed them off and pulled down his pants and underwear, turning back around to turn on the water. It came out without much pressure but he stepped under the flow and grabbed the soap sitting on the shelf. He knew Brad was probably watching him, examining the brighter red scars where the bullets had entered and exited, the healed gash on his hip where he had sliced it jumping a fence holding a little girl, running away from the Biters, all the other smaller scars that weren’t so obvious now. Looking at his muscles, drawn in sharp relief from losing all the padding over them while he lay there feverish, struggling for his life and breath for weeks, half the time thinking he was with Brad anyway because he was so sick, lying there waiting for Tim to maybe get back with different antibiotics, or maybe be left alone to die.

But Brad didn’t say a word, only shrugged off his cammie blouse and stepped forward, squeezing shampoo into Nate’s non-regulation hair and lathering it, massaging his head, and Nate leaned an arm in front of him and leaned his head on his arm, sighing in pleasure. Brad took the soap from his limp hand and lathered it up, running his hands over Nate and carefully cleaning every nook, the water splashing off Nate and hitting Brad’s regulation t-shirt and trousers. Nate sighed again when Brad took his dick in his hand, and then his balls, washing gently. But his hand moved on to his thighs and then he knelt down, washing behind his knees and his ankles and the top of his feet. 

“Hey, wake up…” Brad said softly, and Nate looked at him half in a daze as Brad guided him under the flow, washing off all of the suds he had created. Nate woke up a little and turned off the water. “All clean now, Gunny.” Nate went for a leering face, but he looked so tired it just came off as slightly spastic. Still, Brad’s tented pants meant that it wasn’t coming off too unattractively. Brad threw him a towel and spoke in a clipped voice ‘I need to go check the house is secure and the security system is functional, and radio in to my platoon. I’ll be back in 10 minutes, and I’ll expect you naked and ready for my cock.”

***

 

Brad slipped back into the dimly lit room. He grinned the happiest grin he’d worn for an age, as he looked down on Nate, spread out, limbs askew, cock resting on his thigh, covers thrown back, and passed the fuck out as he intended.

He bent down to take off him boots and slipped off his shirt and pants. He looked at Nate for a good while, palming his cock gently but not really trying to get off, just enjoying the sensation.

Nate was sharp even under the dim light, muscles too defined and smaller, not a shred of fat on him. But that was okay, they were together, and they were safe, and everything would be all right in the end.

He slipped into the bed and put a protective hand on Nate’s side, and listened to his exhausted breathing as he fell off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The obligatory PWP chapter.

Nate woke up and thought he was dreaming. His face was pressed into a pillow, and it was perfectly clean and smelt slightly of lavender (which he normally hated, but he hadn’t smelt it in such a long time it was kind of novel). He had someone pressed against him, a muscled arm wrapped around his belly, fingers trailing down towards his cock, and speaking of cocks, had one of those against him too, pressing pretty fucking firmly and incessantly into his ass.

Everything smelt so clean and weird, he had to be dreaming (if it was the real world, he would be lying in a stinking hole somewhere trying to get a couple hours sleep while Tim was on watch, and there certainly wouldn’t get any cocks pressed against him or arms around him, unless something had very seriously gone wrong and was soon going to end in a fucking massive world of hurt, either for himself or the other guy. Most likely for the other guy, because trying to rape a Recon Marine is generally not a recipe for your life continuing to be a bed of roses.)

But anyway, so it was a dream, and Nate was going to make the most of it, because if he was letting himself dream of Brad then they were probably relatively safe, and he wanted to remember what it was like to taste Brad, to fuck into him deep and taste the sweat on the base of his neck as he grunted a strangled curse and came and Nate kept fucking into him through his spasms.

But this dream was a little different, and so Nate pressed back against Brad, his cock slipping forward, rubbing against his ass cheeks and thighs. Nate was still so foggy and tired and that was a bit weird for a dream, but Brad made a noise of pleasure and rocked forward, pressing his dick into him harder and bringing a hand around to brush at his balls.

He felt Brad breathing slowly against his ear and his sleepy voice “you’re supposed to be getting some sleep, Nate”, Brad said, sounding exasperated but horny at the same time. Brad normally didn’t say anything close to that in his dreams, so Nate opened his eyes and looked around, a little confused. There was a truly heinous painting of a vase of flowers on the wall and the clock next to the bed said it was a quarter past 4. He could see out of the tops of the high curtained windows across from them and the moon was full and shining in. He turned in Brad’s embrace and looked at him, trying to clear the fogginess from his head. Brad detached his hand from his balls (Nate made a sound of protest) and took his head in his hand, brushing the stubble on Nate’s cheek. “Hey, you don’t need to wake up, go back to sleep.” Brad said soothingly.

Nate looked at him and kept on staring “You’re here…”

Brad laughed at his stupid vagueness “Yeah I’m here, I thought I’d stay away from the whorehouse down the street for a couple of nights, since you’re back.”

Nate just ignored him and smiled “I thought I was dreaming.”

“They don’t make cocks this perfect in anyone’s dreams.”

Nate rolled his eyes and snorted, the fog clearing from his eyes. “Stupid arrogant Marines, don’t know how on earth I got stuck with one of you.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not stuck with me forever, only for as long as your pretty ass is tight enough for my cock’s liking,” Brad said with perfect, clipped, icy seriousness.

Nate dissolved into laughter and Brad mostly kept up his icy look, only a slight twinge at his mouth betraying him. Nate calmed down as Brad kept looking at him, look turning more serious as he ran his hand down the side of his face gently, down his front, brushing the sheet down and taking his cock softly in hand. He looked questioningly at Nate, whose eyes were starting to clear of sleep and starting to fill with want instead, and he wrapped his hand around him.

Nate made a quiet noise and his dick twitched as he watched the head slowly slipping in and out of Brad’s big fist. Brad’s own dick was fully hard, engorged; sitting up against his stomach as Brad leaned on his side; clear fluid glistening at the tip. Brad was fucking turned on, breathing heavily and looking at him like he wanted to fuck him hard, into a ground - but his hand moved slowly on Nate, with just the right amount of pressure to make it feel good, dry. Nate looked at him, focused again at how controlled he was, the force and violence he was capable of but that he kept tamped down to use at his own choosing.

But it felt good, going this slow, and Nate wanted to draw it out like this, have Brad’s hand on him without fully waking up, fuck without fully waking up. He pressed forward and took Brad’s mouth slowly in his, drawing him back when he tried to pretty harder and faster. Brad must have been suffering by now but he didn’t complain, just tried to press against Nate’s thigh to get some friction on his cock. “What do you want Nate?” he said quietly, without frustration. 

Nate didn’t answer but spun around to his original position and grabbed Brad behind the thigh, so they lay back to chest and Brad’s dick was between Nate’s thighs. Brad breathed out heavily and rutted against Nate, unable to restrain himself. “You want me to fuck you?” he breathed heavily. Nate pushed back so that Brad’s dicked pushed against him harder, hit the back of his balls “Jesus fuck, Nate, fuck”, Brad breathed, pained.

Nate breathed in heavily and pushed his face down, and groaned “Yes…I fucking want you, I want to come with you in me and know that I’m home.”

Brad stilled for a second and Nate could hear him concentrating, and damned if Nate wasn’t turned on as hell by that, that Brad was ready to come like a virgin teenager and needed to get himself under control. He felt Brad roll over and reach into the bedside drawer (Nate thought that there had never been a time when Brad hadn’t condom and lube ready to go next to him and was glad to know the zombie apocalypse hadn’t changed that.) He missed Brad’s skin against his but forgot that quickly enough when Brad pushed him onto his stomach, rolling him onto the pillow lying next to him. Whoever had chosen that frilled purple monstrosity of a pillowcase probably hadn’t counted on a Marine thrusting his cock into it while another Marine prepared to go at his ass, but hey, that’s life.

Nate pressed his forehead onto his arms as Brad nudged his legs apart, settling over him and slipping a cold lubed finger into him. It had been a damn long time, but Brad found the right place straight away, and he remembered how he liked it, so Nate pressed his mouth into the side of his arm and moaned, just a little bit like an underage Phuket whore might indeed have done (when you were nice and used K-Y). Brad slipped another finger in, immediately, and it burned a little, but in a good way. He sucked at his neck as well, and Nate stopped thinking, stopped wanting to think, just wanted. Wanted Brad, wanted him to fill him up and fuck him until he couldn’t remember his own name, needing Brad to groan it into his ear as he came.

Three fingers and Nate was pushing back against Brads fingers and Brad’s patience snapped, and he heard him snapping open the bottle again with one hand, as the other arm wrapped under Nate and brought him close, back to chest and mouth to neck and dick pushing again Nate’s hole, pushing against him for only a second until Brad pushes through and his groan sounds like a sob and he can’t make himself stop to see if Nate is okay, but has to keep fucking, deeply, or he thinks he will die. 

Nate is gasping something under his breath, it’s a mix of ‘fuck’ and ‘God’ and ‘Brad’, and Brad keeps fucking into him, and he doesn’t think he could describe it later but its like Brad is all of him, owns him, is in him, and Brad stretches their arms above them and keeps fucking into him and Nate can feel himself losing control, his cock rubbing against the bed, Brad’s dick stretching and burning and the tip causing lances of pleasure that would make him buck if Brad’s whole weight wasn’t on top of him, pressing him down (and just as well no-one is walking past the cheap thin walls, all this groaning and wet slapping is getting pretty loud, even if they don’t realize it). He feels his orgasm building, filling all his consciousness, and its Brad’s groaning in his ear that sends him over the edge, groaning please like he’s asking for something, but he doesn’t know what. He thinks he probably yelled as he came but hopefully it was muffled by the pillow, and his whole body lights on fire with electricity, and he feels Brad fuck into him a few more times, deeper if that were possible, grasping both his hips, and then Brad is coming too, strangely more silent at that last moment.

He feels Brad collapsed against him, his chest rising and falling against his back. He rests for a while and then slips to the side, slipping out of Nate. Nate’s losing consciousness again, doesn’t care about the wetness down his front, but gropes behind him for Brad’s hand, grips it tightly, and slips towards sleep so quickly it might have been a race.


End file.
